


Death by Summer Camp

by Ahmerst



Category: DRAMAtical Murder - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-15
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-20 15:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6013420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ahmerst/pseuds/Ahmerst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You die at summer camp, you die in real life. Except when you show over a decade later to call someone a mouth breather.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the dmmd Valentine's express exchange.

Noiz had been a part of Aoba’s life ever since he could remember, a kid in his elementary school class, withdrawn and sullen. Aoba had tried befriending him in the beginning, enthusiastic and determined in the way only children could be. It went nowhere, the balls he tossed to Noiz on the playground uncaught, the snacks he offered at lunch untouched. 

Noiz seemed content to stare off into the grassy field of their school instead, his usually disinterested eyes focusing when there was a flash of movement from a wild spring rabbit. The only other times Aoba saw him half as alive was during schoolyard scuffles, ones that left the involved covered with scuffs and bruises, wailing and red-faced until they were pulled apart by teachers.

Not that Aoba ever saw Noiz cry. There was a time Aoba thought he might. A moment when Noiz had grabbed Aoba’s hair and tugged it in a sharp yank that left Aoba crying out and pushing away at the same time. Noiz hit the ground a fraction of a second later, his breath leaving him in a small gasp as he did. 

Aoba looked down at him, horrified by both of their actions. He waited for Noiz to cry, to call for an adult, to drag Aoba down with him.

Noiz did none of those things, instead staring up at him with a muted surprise.

“Did that hurt?” Noiz asked.

“Of course it hurt,” Aoba snapped. “How would you like it if I did that to you?”

Noiz’s expression said he had no strong feelings one way or the other. Aoba sighed and helped Noiz up, brushing gravel and dust from his clothes. Even if Noiz had started it, Aoba couldn’t help but feel bad.

He felt even worse the next day. Valentine’s Day was nearly upon them and there sat down with colored construction paper, glue, and more glitter than any child should ever be allowed. Everyone was hinting at who they would ask to be their Valentine when the time came. Everyone except Noiz, stared at the materials on his desk without actually using them.

“Don’t you have someone you like?” Aoba asked, leaning over.

“Yeah,” Noiz said. He didn’t go into detail.

“Then why don’t you make them a card?”

“I’ll buy them something,” Noiz said.

Aoba frowned, unsure of how something bought could be better than made. He didn’t ask any more questions as he clumsily cut a heart for his own Valentine, scrawling the name on it before patting glitter on. Aoba hoped Noiz would like it, even if he hadn’t bought it. He decided not to sign his name, just in case it wasn’t good enough.

Come Valentine’s Day, Aoba’s cubby was a mess of flowers and chocolate that hid anything made by his classmates from view. The scent of the flowers tickled his nose pleasantly, and when he pulled out the box of chocolates he found he couldn’t read the writing on the box. Not that he was very good at reading to begin with. They were fancier than anything he’d seen before, and he found himself too attached to the packaging to eat them at first, instead carrying them with him until lunch.

“Do you want some?” Aoba offered as Noiz sat next to him. Aoba didn’t look up. He was busy tracing the gold writing with his index finger for the fifth time. 

“I guess,” Noiz said.

Aoba removed the top of the box reverently, a thin sheet of tissue paper between him and the chocolate. He gently set it aside, staring down to the see assortment of sweets. They all looked dark and delicious, decorated with candied fruit and swirls of color. He had no idea which one to start with.

“I don’t know the flavors,” Aoba admitted as he offered the box to Noiz.

“That one’s strawberry,” Noiz said, pointing. “And that’s cream-filled.”

“Oh,” Aoba said, taking a strawberry chocolate. He was impressed that Noiz could tell just by looking.

“Is there anyone you like?” Noiz asked, taking the cream-filled chocolate.

Aoba hummed thoughtfully, glancing upwards at a clouded sky. He did have someone that he looked forward to seeing, that made his stomach squirm whenever he looked at them. But that person was Noiz, and Aoba had not yet come to realize it was okay to like a boy in the ways he was told he’d one day like a girl.

“I guess,” Aoba said, popping another chocolate into his mouth. “But it’s kind of confusing.”

\---

Childhood memories beyond that became foggier with age. The next year Noiz wasn’t in his class. Wasn’t around at all. Summers had passed before Aoba saw him again, a face he almost missed at his first day of ice skating lessons. Aoba didn’t even want to take them, but it seemed a better option than to play in the daily sweltering heat.

Noiz looked as nonplussed as ever, cool green eyes staring blankly at the ice as their chipper instructor welcomed them and began to go over what they’d be doing in the next few weeks. When it came time to take their first shaky steps into the rink, Noiz was still disengaged, never looking up as he waddled out with the rest of them.

Aoba pulled nervously at his own scarf as he tried to catch Noiz’s gaze, waving shyly and calling his name softly. It was ineffective, the excited squeals of the other children drowning out his voice. Aoba spent the entirety of his lesson trying to make his way over to Noiz and listen to the instructor at the same time, all the while not accomplishing much of either. 

They all fell a lot, and by the time their lesson had begun to wind down, their small attention spans stretched thin, Aoba noticed that Noiz had never stood after his last fall. With his hands scrabbling at the low wall of the ice rink, Aoba pulled himself along to see what had happened. As he approached he saw that Noiz was focused at the ice, eyes taking in a deeply stained patch before looking to his open palm.

It matched the color on the ice.

Aoba had never seen so much blood before. At least not in real life. He’d seen it only in small amounts, a trickle from his nose, a bead on a fresh scrape. But what was on Noiz’s hand was a fresh wash, at the center of it a long cut that was already clotting. When Noiz flexed his fingers, the blood had a syrupy stretch to it.

The ice rink seemed suddenly colder as Aoba fell to his knees next to Noiz, just as entranced by the sight of the injury. But where Noiz regarded it with a collected calm, a fear was welling in Aoba’s stomach. He was ten, and this seemed like a very adult situation. Everything media had told him lead to the conclusion that Noiz was going to lose a limb, if not his life.

With panicked tears beginning to blur his vision, Aoba tugged his scarf off and quickly wrapped it around Noiz’s hand. He could dully hear the instructor calling out to them, and then closer, Noiz’s voice.

“It’s fine,” Noiz said. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“It’s not fine,” Aoba insisted, his tears spilling over. 

“I’ve had worse,” Noiz said.

If his words were meant to comfort, they fell short of their goal. Instead they worsened Aoba’s childish fear, and he took to hugging Noiz’s wrapped hand to his chest as though he could protect it. Even when their instructor skated over and tried to separate them, Aoba held fast. It was only when they were both carried off the ice and a first aid kit was fetched that Aoba could be pried off, though he remained inconsolable.

As his hand was dabbed with antiseptic and covered with gauze, Noiz’s face showed no pain. Not a wince or a cringe, nothing to give away that he was bothered in the least. He answered the questions asked of him. No, he wasn’t light headed. No, he didn’t want juice. Yes, he’d fallen. Yes, it was the skating blade that cut him.

When they were left alone as Noiz’s parents were called, Noiz handed back Aoba’s scarf. It had an ugly blotch of blood on it, and Aoba didn’t think he’d ever wear it again. 

“I’ll get you a new scarf,” Noiz said.

“T-that’s okay,” Aoba sniffed, shaking his head. It wasn’t really okay at all. The scarf was one of the few gifts he’d gotten from his parents, not that he remembered them very well.

He was so focused on his scarf that when Noiz reached out with his good hand, Aoba only caught it in the corner of his vision at the last second. Instantly the memory of Noiz yanking his hair sprung to mind, and Aoba eyes shut as his body tensed in preparation for the inevitable shock of pain.

Instead, Aoba found that Noiz’s touch was feather-light, his fingers playing gently through Aoba’s hair. It was a stark contrast to the first time he touched Aoba’s hair, curious and gentle in the place of his previous roughness. Aoba ventured to open a single eye, lips pursed as he regarded Noiz’s warily.

Was this what people did before they kicked the bucket? Got touchy-feely and nice? Neither of these things were standard for Noiz, and Aoba found the new behavior worrying. Maybe this was it. He should say something comforting, something about passing into the next life without regrets, or lying and saying Noiz would make it.

Instead, Aoba blurted a reverse deathbed confession.

“I’m sorry I didn’t sign the Valentine I gave you.”

“What?” Noiz asked.

“Back in kindergarten─ I made you a Valentine and put it on your box, but then I didn’t know if you’d like it so I didn’t put my name on it.”

Noiz’s dull eyes lit for a moment as he recalled the memory. His head turned slowly as he leveled Aoba with a serious look.

“You spelled my name wrong,” Noiz said flatly.

Aoba was absolutely mortified, but before he could sputter out that he struggled enough to spell his own name at that age two shadows fell over them.

Noiz’s parents didn’t look like parents. They looked instead like professionals, not a hair out of place or a wrinkle in their sharp clothes. Aoba could see that Noiz had inherited his bored expression from his father, while his mother’s features held an icy upset. Not the kind that said she was concerned, but instead angry.

They didn’t stop to look at Noiz’s now patched up hand, instead speaking down to him in a language Aoba didn’t know. He watched as Noiz followed them to a sleek, dark car. Aoba stood with his scarf balled up in his hands, his tears finally subsiding. He made a mental note to ask Noiz if those really were his parents the next day.

Noiz didn’t come back the next day. He didn’t come back to camp at all. When Aoba asked the instructor about it, he was told that while Noiz’s injury was easily treated, his parents had decided to withdraw him from classes. Aoba cried again that day, but this time he didn’t have blood to blame it on. 

\---

Ignoring those events had become a sort of hobby to Aoba as the years went on. They’d surface in the middle of the night to keep him awake, or make his skin prickle with embarrassment over how he handled them. Then he’d pointedly try not to think about them, which made him think about them more. Aoba never claimed to be good at his hobbies.

And now, standing in the luggage claim area for international flights while waiting to spot Mizuki, Aoba had the memories rushing back to him because he was staring at the back of Noiz’s head. That, or someone who looked a lot like Noiz from behind. For anyone else that would have been more likely, but Aoba knew his luck, and it dictated that he ended up in the worst situations at the worst possible time.

Disheveled and tired at 5 am was not a look Aoba wanted Noiz to see. Mizuki was the single person privy to that look. Mizuki, who needed to stop being tied up doing whatever, because now the luggage from his flight was starting to appear on the carousel and all Aoba wanted to do was leave. He should never have offered to pick Mizuki up from the airport. He should have pretended he’d died.

Aoba found himself holding his breath as Noiz’s head turned, undoubtedly waiting for his own luggage. His profile was unmistakable, and Aoba shrank back as he wondered if it was too late to play dead. Hell, if Noiz recognized him, he really would die. What kind of small talk could you make with someone you cried a river on during summer camp, then hadn’t seen for over a decade? None that wouldn’t be awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. 

“Have you always been a mouth breather?

Aoba blinked as his heart kickstarted, focus snapping to the present. Noiz stood before him, the corner of his lips turned up in a smirk. God, he’d been a cute kid, but now he was a hot adult. Unapproachable levels of hot that Aoba wasn’t ready to look at this early in the morning. Aoba coped by casting his gaze down along the scarf knotted fashionably around Noiz’s neck, to the buttons of a jacket that was entirely too nice considering the hour, and finally settling on a pair of shining black leather shoes.

“I have allergies,” Aoba lied, taking a deep sniff through his nose. He couldn’t help that he forgot how to breathe right when he got nervous.

Most people had brains that would try to cobble together small talk when faced with someone they hadn’t seen in a long time. Aoba’s brain was more interested in thinking of ways to escape. Phasing through the floor wasn’t an option, and until Mizuki showed up, running wasn’t either. Acting like he didn’t know Noiz was a frontrunner at the moment. 

He was still debating his course of action when he noticed Noiz’s hands were working to undo the scarf at his neck.

“Don’t tell me you don’t remember your first Valentine,” Noiz said.

Aoba cringed as his cheeks grew hot. “I can’t believe that’s the first thing you’re bringing up...”

“Would you rather me bring up your ice rink meltdown?” Noiz asked.

Aoba wanted to tell Noiz that he didn’t want him to bring up anything of the sort, but he found words failing him as Noiz’s scarf was neatly wrapped around his neck, the cashmere of it soft against his skin, the scent of a heady cologne clinging to it. Heat rushed to Aoba’s cheeks as he gave Noiz a confused look.

“I told you I’d get you a new one, didn’t I?” Noiz asked, smoothing his hand along the scarf.

“Oh,” Aoba said dumbly. “Right, my scarf─”

The chirp of Noiz’s coil cut Aoba off, and Noiz’s expression flashed to annoyance as he checked it. He let out a strained breath as he silenced the call. 

“Work,” Noiz explained, grabbing at Aoba’s wrist and pushing the sleeve up until Aoba’s coil was exposed. His moved quickly to enter his number, fingers brushing against Aoba’s when his hand fell away.

A shiver zipped down Aoba’s spine at the brief touch, his mind at last registering the reality of the moment and how after all these years apart Noiz had managed to appear again. Maybe he’d stick around for once.

“I’ll catch you later,” Noiz said, his shoulder bumping against Aoba’s as he walked by, his luggage in tow.

Before Aoba could turn to respond, his attention was caught by Mizuki finally coming into sight, looking as tired and haggard as Aoba had been feeling since he woke up.

“Sorry, the plane was stuck on the runway forever,” Mizuki said, his stride slowing as he looked at Aoba, then over his shoulder at what must have been Noiz’s back. “You get tied up as well?”

“Something like that,” Aoba mumbled, glancing over his shoulder to find Noiz heading out the sliding doors. 

“And I trust you’ll give me all the details?” Mizuki asked, tugging his luggage from the carousel.

Aoba squinted and sniffed as he debated it. He wasn’t sure he had the energy.

“I’ll buy you breakfast,” Mizuki said.

Food was Aoba’s weakness. Especially when it was free.

“Okay,” Aoba began, fingers curling as he thought back to Noiz’s touch. “Remember that story I told you ages ago, the one where I thought a kid at my summer camp was going to die because he cut his hand?”

Mizuki let out a bark of a laugh. “That’s basically my favorite story ever.”

“Well, that was the kid. I mean─ he’s not a kid anymore, but you get what I’m saying.”

Mizuki’s eyes lit up as he slung an arm around Aoba. “God, this is going to be so good.”

\---

“So when do you see him next?” Mizuki asked as he sipped the last of his orange juice.

Aoba shrugged, staring at the crumbs on his plate. “I don’t know. Whenever? He wasn’t specific.”

“Maybe he’s going to ask you on a date.”

“No,” Aoba said flatly.

“It’s almost Valentine’s Day, though. It would be cute.”

“He’s here for work.”

Mizuki wrinkled his nose. “Can’t you be a little more romantic?”

“He probably just wants to catch up or something, you’re reading into this too much,” Aoba said, momentarily distracted as his coil went off.

He checked it as Mizuki paid the bill.

“Dinner tomorrow?”

It was from Noiz.


	2. Chapter 2

“So what you’re telling me is that you have a date,” Mizuki said the next evening when Aoba mentioned the text.

“No, I’m saying he wants to get dinner,” Aoba corrected from the bathroom, redoing his ponytail for the third time in ten minutes.

“It’s a date.”

“It’s _dinner_.”

“You’re primping, Aoba.”

“I want to look good is all,” Aoba said. “Since he grew up to be hot, shouldn’t I at least look presentable?”

Mizuki appeared behind Aoba in the reflection of the mirror, batting Aoba’s hands away and fixing his ponytail once and for all. Aoba watched Mizuki’s reflection shake his head and sigh, a good natured smile on his lips.

“You always look good,” Mizuki assured, clapping his hands on Aoba’s shoulders and squeezing reassuringly. 

“But I want to look good without looking like I’m trying,” Aoba said. “Like, cute and casual. Cute that says I woke up like this, as opposed to I took four hours to pick jeans and a sweater and make my hair look appropriately messy.”

Mizuki clicked his tongue against his teeth as he stepped back, hands held up in surrender. “I haven’t read enough magazines to know those secrets. Just be yourself. Or like yourself, but with less of an attitude.”

Aoba turned to shoot Mizuki an unamused look. “My attitude isn’t that bad.”

“Your attitude is entirely charming,” Mizuki said, easy and soft like he was trying to talk down a bear about to charge. “All I’m saying is not to call him an asshole or kick him under the table. At least until you’ve got him eating out of the palm of your hand.”

“I think I can manage that,” Aoba said, glancing at his reflection one final time. “And like I told you a million times, it’s not a date.”

\--- 

Aoba checked his coil as a chilling wind blew through him. It was nearly seven, and Aoba pulled anxiously at his scarf─ no, Noiz’s scarf─ as he waited for Noiz. Aoba wasn’t sure what they were going to do. He hadn’t been given an address to go to, a place to wait. Instead Noiz had told him the cross street to meet at, and when to be there. 

As the last few minutes before their meeting stretched on, Aoba’s own attempts to distract himself by people began to fail. Everyone was paired up. They held hands or linked arms, footsteps in sync as they walked by. All happy couples enjoying their Valentine’s Day while Aoba stood alone.

“Been waiting long?” came a voice from behind Aoba, startling him out of his gloom.

“Not really,” Aoba said, turning to see Noiz.

In the low light of the street lamp, Aoba sized Noiz up. In the place of his previous getup was a more relaxed look, a collared shirt peeking out from beneath a comfortably fitted sweater, his slacks an off shade of gray. His shoes now looked like they cost half of Aoba’s paycheck, instead of the entire thing.

God damn it, he had the effortless casual look going on that Aoba struggled to achieve. 

“Did you roll out of bed like that or what?” Noiz said.

“I─” Aoba started, unsure of what to say. He was suddenly afraid that he’d gone too far, falling short of his goal and bottoming out at frumpy and disheveled. 

“Looks nice,” Noiz added.

The short compliment kickstarted Aoba’s pulse. It then doubled as Noiz’s hand found its way to the small of Aoba’s back, the pressure light as he started to walk.

Aoba found his tongue uselessly tied as they passed small cafes and greasy diners. When others walked their way, Noiz’s hand found its way to settle on Aoba’s waist, drawing him nearer to make room as they were passed on the sidewalk. Aoba decided he wouldn’t tell Mizuki about this later, because then he’d insist it really was a date.

When Noiz stopped, Aoba thought at first they’d gotten lost. Before them was a well-lit restaurant, a patio encircled by a wrought iron fence between them and the door. Heat lamps glowed next to outside tables already set with silverware and a flickering candle that served as a centerpiece. Romantic was Aoba’s first impression, expensive was his second.

A host came to greet them, two menus in hand as he asked if they had reservations. Noiz gave his last name, and Aoba was glad he hadn’t tried to spell in on the Valentine he made so long ago.

“So how was, uh, work and all?” Aoba said as they were seated, unsure of what to talk about.

“Really?” Noiz asked, narrowing his eyes in mock disappointment. “After all this time, you’re going to make small talk?

“What else am I supposed to talk about?” Aoba said, grabbing his menu and hiding behind it. 

“Did you miss me?” Noiz asked.

Aoba peered over his menu, cheeks flushing with heat. “Excuse me?”

“We haven’t seen each other in over a decade. Did you miss me? Did you think about me?”

“To think such a cute, quiet kid would turn out to be as brash as you,” Aoba sniffed, eschewing Mizuki’s advice.

“You thought I was cute?” Noiz coaxed.

Aoba pretended not to hear the question, hyper focused on his menu instead. He was in the middle of deciding between the mushroom risotto and the white wine fettuccine when Noiz pulled his menu away.

“I missed you,” Noiz said bluntly. “I thought about you, and I still think you’re cute.”

“Oh,” Aoba said, needing several breaths to let the words sink in. “Wow. I can’t say I was expecting that.”

“I asked you to dinner,” Noiz said pointedly. “On Valentine’s day.”

Aoba could hear Mizuki’s voice in his head, telling Aoba it was a date. And it... was.

Before Aoba could respond, the server was at their table, chipper as he asked them for their orders. Aoba forgot entirely what he’d been thinking of, and instead blurted that he wanted the special. Noiz asked for the same. Aoba had no idea what the special was.

“I guess you’re pretty cute, even now,” Aoba admitted as the server left. He kept his eyes on the candle between them. “And I did wonder what happened to you.”

“For starters, I didn’t die after summer camp,” Noiz said. “My parents decided I was a shitty kid and that we should move back to Germany, which I guess they thought would make me less shitty.”

Aoba frowned at Noiz’s mention of parents. They had seemed strange, even back then. 

“It didn’t,” Noiz added.

“I’m sure you weren’t a bad kid,” Aoba said, reflexively wanting to comfort Noiz.

“To my parents I was, and they were the ones making decisions.”

Noiz’s voice was flat and distant as he spoke, and Aoba looked up to find his gaze averted, eyes dulled. Aoba reached out with one hand, laying it over Noiz’s and gently taking it in his own. This was kind of weird and deep, but Aoba reasoned that Noiz had started it. As his thumb smoothed its way along Noiz’s palm, Aoba could feel the flat scar that spanned it. The contact seemed to snap Noiz back, his eyes bright and present as he met Aoba’s gaze.

“Anyway, they’re not important anymore,” Noiz said. “I have more interesting things in my life now.”

Aoba didn’t miss the way Noiz’s eyes regarded him with a certain sharpness, making his blood run hot.

“That’s─ that’s good,” Aoba said, swallowing thickly, working up what little nerve he had before speaking again. “I think you should definitely pursue your interests, then.”

The wolfish grin Noiz shot Aoba let him know that was the plan.

\---

Dinner passed in a blur of conversation and eating. As Aoba’s nerves settled, his tongue unwound and speaking became easier. He found out more about Noiz than he’d ever known before. Noiz’s family was a mix of Japanese and German, and he spoke both languages with total fluency. He’d spent his childhood bandied back and forth between the countries, and continued in adulthood to travel between the two as often as his family business dictated. He had a younger brother who did the same. 

But there were things Aoba noticed about Noiz that were unspoken. He had an array of scars and scrapes, some faded and old, some new and reddened. He was reckless in his movements, unfazed when they stood from dinner and his hip caught on the edge of the chair, not even the smallest wince elicited from him when his finger was momentarily caught in the front door on the restaurant as they left.

Aoba didn’t comment on it, but it piqued his curiosity regardless. 

Noiz offered Aoba a ride home, and Aoba made no effort to feign that he didn’t want to impose. Their date was coming to its end, and despite the anxious twist his stomach did each time they brushed against each other, and the way his throat would tighten when he spoke, he didn’t want it to.

The ride back was quiet without being uncomfortable, and over all too soon. As the car pulled up to the curb, Aoba found his hands fidgeting in his lap, unwilling to unbuckle his seatbelt.

“That scarf looks better on you than it ever did on me,” Noiz said as he killed the engine. 

“Oh, uh. Thanks,” Aoba mumbled. “It looked really good on you too, though.”

Noiz snorted, his fingers tapping on the wheel. He seemed equally as apprehensive about letting this end. 

“You know, I liked that valentine you made me,” Noiz admitted, reaching to unbuckle his own seatbelt. “And I hope you liked mine.”

Aoba ran his hand along the scarf that Noiz had given him. He was about to say how much he liked it when Noiz leaned over. Not to kiss Aoba, but to reach into the backseat of the car. There was a rustle and crinkle before Noiz drew back, a box held in one hand, a bouquet of flowers in the other. Both were instantly familiar.

“Oh my God,” Aoba bleated, shocked as the presents were pushed artlessly into his arms. “It’s official, I was a dumb kid.”

“I’m starting to think you might be a dumb adult, too,” Noiz said. “What with your mouth breathing starting up again.”

Aoba quickly shut his mouth and swallowed down the knot forming in his throat. The bouquet was much like the first one, though fuller than before. But the box was identical, the golden script still impossible for him to understand. Now he knew why it’d escaped him before; it was in German.

“Of course I liked your Valentine─ back then, and now,” Aoba said, unable to suppress a smile as he opened the box. “But, uh, I might need some help figuring out which is which again.”

“I think I can do that,” Noiz said, leaning over to pluck the same cream-filled chocolate he’d taken in their childhood.

They were halfway through the box before Aoba had to admit to himself this couldn’t go on forever. As much as he wanted it to continue, his prolonging of the inevitable slowly turning the atmosphere uneasy. He quietly put the lid back on the chocolates and started to unbuckle himself, hugging his gifts to himself to say goodbye.

“Wait,” Noiz said, his hand grasping at Aoba’s upper arm. 

In a swift motion Aoba was tugged closer to Noiz, his face turning to see what Noiz wanted. Aoba barely had time to blink before Noiz’s lips were pressed against his own, chapped and warm. Though his pulse sped, Aoba’s body relaxed into the kiss, his eyes shutting as he returned the affection. His stomach squirmed like it had as a child, his adult self now able to identify why.

Neither of them pulled back from the first kiss as it became a second and a third before they began to blend together. When Aoba sighed into the kiss, Noiz’s tongue skimmed over his lips before pressing forward. Aoba’s hold on his flowers became crushingly tight as Noiz’s tongue glanced against his own and explored his mouth.

When they drew back at last, Aoba found he was mouth breathing again. God, he had to get that under control. 

“I wanted to know what the strawberry chocolate tasted like,” Noiz explained, the satisfied look on his face saying that wasn’t the sole reason behind the kiss.

“There are probably better ways to figure that out, but okay,” Aoba said, too flustered to say anything else.

Noiz shrugged. “Better to be direct. Speaking of which, we should do this again.”

Aoba nodded. He couldn’t think of a reason to say no.

“Breakfast it is then,” Noiz said with all the finality that left no room for argument.

“I─ sure. Alright,” Aoba said, trying not to think of how much he dreaded waking up early. But he’d done it for Mizuki, and he could do it for Noiz. “I’ll see you then.”

Aoba didn’t look back as he left the car, jogging up the steps to his apartment. The lights were already on, the door unlocked as Aoba let himself in with his gifts pinned beneath one arm. The compact living room smelled faintly of popcorn, the television screen airing a romantic comedy with generic actors.

“So?” Mizuki asked, looking up from the couch. He had a pint of ice cream in one hand, a spoon in the other. He looked strangely empowered.

Aoba came around to the couch, laying the flowers across the coffee table before sitting with a soft thud. He traded his box of chocolates for Mizuki’s ice cream, spooning a bite into his mouth as he relaxed back into the cushions. With the excitement of his night out wearing off, he was ready to unwind.

“It was good,” Aoba said.

“And?” Mizuki coaxed. Aoba could nearly hear his eyebrows quirking.

“And...” Aoba continued, taking the spoon out of his mouth as he finally let himself acknowledge the truth aloud. “I’ll admit it. You were right─ it was a date.”


End file.
